


When the Butterflies Fly Away

by Caprichoso



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cohabitation, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Slice of Life, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprichoso/pseuds/Caprichoso
Summary: "Once, kisses meant butterflies, and tongues and teeth and roaming hands, and passion crackling and sparking between them like a Tesla coil. There's still plenty of electricity to be found, but now it's often of a gentler kind, more subdued, like the muted light from a bulb on a dimmer switch."No relationship is immune to change; still, not all change is bad.Early-morning domestic fluff, because reasons.





	When the Butterflies Fly Away

**Author's Note:**

> (Rises from the dead to drop a tiny snippet of semi-autobiographical fluff and then disappears again...)
> 
> Seriously, though, I feel badly about a lack of activity (even replies) on here, but real life is in a transitional stage where the amount of work I put in affects whether I'm stuck in between things for months or years, so I have to keep pushing. See you all on the other side, hopefully!

Adrien is roused from his half-sleep by the first few notes of a gentle, generic melody that his body responds to instinctively; the second alarm on Marinette's phone hardly has time to tinkle into existence before her fingers tap to shut it off. She shifts, stifles her groan into a sigh for his sake, and begins to extricate herself from his arms.

Over years of sharing a bed, they've developed a system that allows them both the sleep they need and the closeness they crave: at the first alarm, they drift together. Usually one of them curls up to the other's back; sometimes they both turn over, foreheads close and hands linking as they nuzzle their way into a groggy kiss; other times they're too drained to do more than stretch an arm or a leg out in search of one another. Still, they always find each other, and in that liminal space that can last a generous half hour or scarce seconds depending on how long the universe decides fifteen minutes will be that morning, they recharge together.

Marinette's palm slides under Adrien's, lifting it up until her lips touch the back of his hand, then she scoots out from the circle of his arm and lowers it back down to rest on their sheets. He makes a lazy grab for her, finds a handful of flesh and cotton, gives it a gentle squeeze. She might have giggled at his antics, years ago; now, he doesn't even need to open his eyes to feel her fond smile. Kisses are his reward-- slow, gentle pecks in clusters of three or five or however many before neither goes back for another in the middle of their inevitably blooming grins.

Eventually, by some silent agreement neither of them relishes keeping, she drifts away, and he doesn't pursue. He could drag her back into bed, roll the both of them up in their blankets, and happily spend another several hours cuddling her. When they were younger, they had done just that on occasion, responsibilities discarded in favor of a much-needed lazy morning. Those occasions are much harder to come by these days; one of the more unfortunate truths of adult life is that while you can technically do whatever you want, the repercussions for doing so only increase over time.

A minimum of soft clunks and clatters accompany Marinette's morning ritual; she always strives to make as little noise as possible, but Adrien's senses stretch out into their little studio unbidden to watch over her, nonetheless.

The click of a hanger, the rustle of fabric. A beam of light hits his eyelid for a split second before the bathroom door clicks shut, then again when it opens a few minutes later and she emerges fully dressed, the day's makeup applied. The refrigerator door makes its familiar thunk as she retrieves what's sure to be her morning yogurt and a container of pad thai; whenever Adrien cooks, he always tries to make enough for her to take leftovers for lunch the next day. One eye cracks open to watch her step out of the kitchen; he wants to be sure she also found the little surprise he left.

Sure enough, there's a smile on Marinette's face as she stoops down by the door to deposit her breakfast and lunch in the little insulated bag she made years ago, and she has the travel mug in hand. When she gently shakes the mug and takes a sip, the smile grows, and Adrien lets an identical one bloom on his own face.

"You're so good to me, kitty," she murmurs, leaning down over him for a series of kisses he greedily and lazily accepts, trying to be conscientious about his morning breath but aware she doesn't mind too much. If his reply of the same words accompanied by her own endearment comes out garbled due to sleep and his lips being occupied with better things, it's fine; she knows as well as he does by now what he's saying.

The kisses are cold and sweet and milky over the lingering toothpaste-- most days she'll drink her coffee black and enjoy it, just like him, but now and then, especially in the heat of summer, she likes it cold with a spoonful of ice cream.

Once, kisses meant butterflies, and tongues and teeth and roaming hands, and passion crackling and sparking between them like a Tesla coil. There's still plenty of electricity to be found, but now it's often of a gentler kind, more subdued, like the muted light from a bulb on a dimmer switch. Subtlety can be a virtue, they've found; settling low and comfortable makes the sparks seem like lightning bolts when they choose to turn up the current.

In their first years together, they'd stumbled over themselves in their haste to know one another completely, like flipping rapt through the pages of a newly-bought novel, so eager to devour the plot that they missed the finer points. Now, though, there's no rush, and they're perfectly content wandering gently back to a dogeared corner, rereading a favorite turn of phrase that never fails to make them smile. The rest of the book can wait; for now, they're enjoying the little details.

Left hand finds left hand, and a pair of simple, understated rings brush together. In the haze of the morning, Adrien isn't sure if the _yours_  that's uttered and echoed is voiced aloud, but it's there, and it warms him in a way that puts the bundle of blankets around him to shame.

One last kiss, a pair of _I_ _love_ _you_ 's that are definitely spoken, always spoken, and Marinette shuffles to the door, opening it onto a still-slumbering world. A heartbeat later, she's gone, with a click and a jingle of keys and the scrape of the deadbolt signaling her departure.

Adrien inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out in a yawn, stretching life back into sleepy muscles. Sleeping in late together isn't in the cards every day, and the butterflies eventually fly away from every relationship, but as he shifts the covers aside and pads into the kitchen to make his own coffee, he can't help but think that sleepy kisses and whispers at four in the morning are every bit as wonderful.


End file.
